


Magical Beasts in Hiding

by masterofesoterica



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Asexual Relationship, Character Study, Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mostly Gen, Post-Canon, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterofesoterica/pseuds/masterofesoterica
Summary: Credence wonders around in New York after the battle in the subway station. Instead of leaving by ship, Credence is found by Tina and Queenie, is re-acquainted with the real Percival Graves, deals with the aftermath, and makes true friends.
Or, yet another story that tries to give Credence all the hugs that he needs.





	1. Chapter 1

_Unnatural abomination!_ His ma’s voice rings in his ears, he sees her grey face in every shop window and street sign he passes. Her unmoving face. His ma is dead now—because of him—because of the thing inside of him.

 

New Yorkers were oddly affected by the holiday season this year (perhaps driven by an existential horror forgotten but unshaken). People were charitable, or else they didn’t care much for a slight young man amidst them. Credence had spent several days wandering around the docks, observing the ships carefully, thinking if he might stow away on one of them. But he could not make up his mind so each day the sun sets, Credence finds himself sheltering on a porch or underneath a bridge. Today, the docks were mostly empty, the ships sitting in the harbour, the workers at home with their families. And now it is past sunset.

 

Credence curls in on himself, attempting to hold onto some warmth. It is Christmas Eve. For the past eighteen years, Christmas was the only time of the year that Mary Lou might smile at her children. It was never quite a full smile, just a turning of her lips at the corners. She’d give them hot cups of tea and a single sweet treat each. She would never hug them or kiss them, but her eyes might soften slightly. Poor Chastity would be so happy, in her subdued and obedient way. Modesty would be allowed to get through a whole carol of her choice before she was shushed. In ma’s house, in that old church hall, Credence learned to dwell on the happy things. Perhaps it was not so bad. Perhaps. Perhaps.

 

He wonders where Modesty is now. Her frightened white face, her cowering body. That last time he saw her. He does not want to remember those things. They brought a chill to him that was deeper than the bone. Oh God oh God. He never meant to harm her. He never meant to harm any of them. He was a killer.

 

A woman in a jaunty green hat had given him a coin earlier, thinking him a vagabond. It burned now in his pocket. He didn’t deserve kindness. He claws at his hands, wanting the familiar red marks to appear again. Credence swipes his thumb over the older scars, wishing they would open again and he would see the viscera underneath. _I’ve been bad, ma. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!_

 

But then he feels it. That something. That black creature—not solid, not mist. It had hurt so bad down there in the subway station. He had felt as though it were being severed from him with red-hot irons. Afterwards, he’d been in pain for days, feeling as though he’d come apart at the seams somehow. He knew to hide in alleys; he knew to be silent and unseen. Always, he could feel it—that thing inside him, no longer inside him, and yet, it’s soft breath on his back like a ghost.

 

Ghosts were real, not-Graves had told him. Credence had squirrelled the knowledge away like a precious thing.

 

But he feels it again now, just the lightest wisp of it, and it is back. It is surrounding his body, it is making him warm enough so that the snow hardly matters. He feels it crawling into him through the fissures in his skin where his ma had sliced him open. The scars on his hand feel like they are almost burning. It is warm and it is almost familiar.

 

As the darkness burrows in, Credence feels his consciousness slipping. Sleep is there, waiting for him. The darkness promises him a fraction of safety, and protection from the outside world. If anyone came past, they would see a skinny figure curled up at the corner of the alleyway, a soft strange sheen surrounding him melting the snow before it could collect.

 

\--

 

Ma stopped holding him when he was young. She wouldn’t even hit him with her hand. She always used a belt. Modesty held his hand sometimes; she could always sense when he needed it. When she was a little younger, when she first came to join them, she would crawl into his bed and they would huddle together holding each other, pretending they could not hear each other’s quiet sobs. Modesty would whisper of her siblings and her parents in her high thin voice. Credence would listen and imagine himself in their little hovel, imagine himself being surrounded by siblings who would laugh with him and ask him to play. Mary Lou found them, and of course beat them, but Credence most of all because he begged her to and Modesty was only very small.

 

He was there again now. _No ma! Please, please! It was my fault_. Ma’s face was bearing down on him, her mouth twisted and her eyes aflame. He was pushing Modesty behind him, her fingers latched onto his wrist. The pressure of her fingers stung old bruises, but then the belt was lashing through the air and striking him across the shoulder. Modesty let out something between a choked sob and a scream.

 

_Go, Modesty, please go. Ma, no, let her go._ Mary Lou stood bore down on him, as Modesty scampered down the stairs and into the street, finally having let go of his wrist. Chastity looked on from the corner, her face frozen, as Mary Lou lifted her arm up again. And then the belt swung down, again and again, his body shook with the blows.

 

The memory shifted. The pain was still bearing down upon him, spreading out across his body white and blazing, but something was different. The whole vivid image seemed to lurch. An undecipherable howl rose. And then the darkness seemed to pour out of the seams of the memory. Credence knew there was a scream from somewhere—it was his voice, or it was Mary Lou’s, or it was Modesty’s, or it was his own voice again.

 

\--

 

“Tina, I hear it—I’ve never been able to sense another’s mind from so far—and the pain, Tina—it’s horrible!”

 

Queenie was striding very quickly now, her leather shoes clicking against the frosty sidewalks. Tina was panting a little as she attempted to keep pace.

 

“It’s here!”

 

“Where?” Tina had drawn up abruptly as Queenie had suddenly stopped. Her sister was very rarely like this. And on Christmas day of all things.

 

“He’s here,” Queenie says, turning on the spot. The houses here were a little run down, and the streets were empty. But smoke was curling out of the chimneys and even in the early dawn, the sisters could hear rustling behind drawn curtains.

 

“In the alleyway,” Tina says, her eyes widening.

 

They find in a little alcove in the alley a huddled figure is lying in a heap. A boy they thought dead. Queenie is rubbing at her temples as though in pain. When they are close to him, they sense the heat rolling off in waves. The air was thick with magic, a sickly, heavy feeling that recalled dark magic.

 

Almost without thinking, Tina reaches out a hand and smooths back the boy’s hair, letting her hand rest against his forehead. His skin is feverish, small tremors rack through his body. Tina can see that it is Credence, and he is undeniably alive and in pain. But his body does not seem quite corporeal, as though it might shatter at any moment.

 

“Credence? Wake up? Credence!”

 

\--

 

Credence’s skin, he feels it blooming beneath Mary Lou’s beating. The screaming will not fade. But there is a voice. The blackness ebbs for a moment, seemingly shrinking back. There’s a sweet voice calling him. A woman’s voice. And there is a strange glowing gold light somewhere at the edges of his vision.

 

“Credence?”

 

His body is aching so much, he can hardly bring himself to move. The whole scene seems to still and fade a little at the edges, and he hears the voice again—no, two voices. The strange gold light is speaking to him too, in a soft whisper, without distinct words. He feels the presence in his mind, in the memory and all at once. The other voice is familiar too; he’s sure he’s heard it before.

 

“Open your eyes Credence, please.”

 

The darkness is vanishing now, as though it cannot stand the light, and the whole memory becomes static and colourless, and the pain in his back and shoulders are fading a little too. He wants to do as the voice bids. He wants to open his eyes.

 

“What can you see, Queenie?”

 

“Not much, now.”

 

Credence reaches out tentatively towards the lightness and he feels it solidify around him. He becomes aware of the ground, the cold beginning to seep in, and of the pressure of someone’s hand against his brow.

 

“I think he’s awake. Credence? Can you hear me?”

 

Credence feels a touch against his shoulder, and then he is staring blearily into brown eyes he thinks he remembers.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Credence, you’re safe with us,” Tina says, “stay with us.”

 

Her touch on his shoulders is warm. Credence desperately wants to hold onto the woman, but he is so afraid. The last time—he shudders to remember the last time. The fear and the pain. The dark tunnel and not-Graves standing there with that cold light in his eyes. Oh, he just wants to forget it all. He feels his eyelids drooping again, as though his body just wants to shut everything out. It was simple when it was just the pain—the pain bursting from him and free, free to wander and to destroy. So simple.

 

“Look at me, Credence,” says another voice. And he feels smooth hands pressing against his cheek and another face swimming into view. Her eyes are bright and pale green like the surface of a lake. As he stares into them, the strange gold light he’d felt before seems to shine in his mind. _Be strong_ , it tells him. And he feels like he can be.

 

“Miss Goldstein,” he whispers.

 

“Credence,” Tina says, and the relief is palpable in her voice, “we’re going to have to put some charms on you, a warming charm and a spell to make us unnoticeable to passers-by—will that be okay?”

 

“Y—yes.”

 

Tina pulls her wand from her sleeve and waves it twice over Credence. “Now, if you can, we’ll help you stand. Will that be okay?”

 

“Yes,” he whispers again. His tremors have subsided; he feels almost part of his body.

 

Tina and Queenie each take an arm and helps him up. He sways a little but manages to stay on his feet, leaning heavily on both of them.

 

“Final thing, Credence, and then you can rest—can we take you by apparition—that is, magical transportation? But we could call for a buggy if you prefer.”

 

“Apparition…Yes, I think so.”

 

“In that case, please hold on tightly to us. Queenie?”

 

Her sister gives Tina a small smile. The next second, the three of them land with a thump on the steps outside of their apartment. Queenie hurriedly unlocks the door with a wave of her hand, and gestures them to be quiet, but Credence is much too tired to speak anyway.

 

Finally, Tina sets Credence down on their couch and rekindles the fire in the grate with a gesture of her wand. Queenie disappears into the kitchen a returns a short while later with a mug of something steaming, which she presses into his hands. Credence is too dazed by all of it to take much notice of his surroundings.

 

“How are you feeling, Credence?” Tina has pulled up a footstool beside him, and is looking into his face searchingly. The other woman, Miss Goldstein’s sister, hovers beside her, a focused look on her face.

 

“I—I don’t—I’m not sure.”

 

“I understand,” Tina nods, “drink some cocoa.”

 

Dutifully, Credence lifts the mug to his lips. The cocoa inside is perfect, warming and soothing. But Credence feels like he is about to cry. It’s embarrassing; ma always said that he was too old to cry now, that he should take his punishment, stop acting like a child.

 

“You can cry, Credence,” Queenie says softly, “you can cry here.”

 

\--

 

“We can’t tell M.A.C.U.S.A about him,” Tina says, as she drapes a blanket over Credence’s now peacefully slumbering body, curled up on the couch. Credence still clutched the empty mug to his body.

 

“You think they will want to kill him.”

 

“You saw what happened in the station. He _is_ dangerous.”

 

“I saw it, Tina, the _obscurus_. It’s at the surface all the time, just waiting. He knows it’s there now, I think he can feel it.” Queenie twirls her wand around her fingers nervously. “I’ve never seen anything like it… It’s frightening.”

 

“It’s that _horrible_ woman! I’m glad she is dead.”

 

Queenie catches her sister’s hand and presses it gently. “But what will we do? I think—it must be possible to separate it. It is not _him_ , it is not his mind, just something that’s _attached_ itself to him.”

 

“I’ll owl Newt. Perhaps he can do what he did for the girl in Sudan.” None of them spoke aloud the thought that followed.

 

“He’s harmless as long as he’s calm, as long as he has control and not the obscurus.”

 

“You’re right. But they won’t see it that way. And no doubt M.A.C.U.S.A will have heightened security for weeks. We’ll have to lay low, until things calm down. I bet they’re monitoring the owl traffic too, so we’ll need to communicate with Newt through secure channels.”

 

Queenie nods, and considers the young man who is still really a boy.

 

\--

 

Credence spends the next few days sleeping most of the day on the couch, joining them for dinner in the kitchen, and he is mostly silent. Tina and Queenie make sure that one of them is always at home with Credence despite their work schedules. Tina finds some books in her old school trunk for Credence—just simple no-maj children’s books that he seems to enjoy. He confides in her quietly that he’s only ever read the bible.

 

The second week, they manage to move Credence off the couch and into their spare bedroom. He’s awake and up and about for the most part. He likes to be useful, so Queenie gives him small tasks for the day around the house, cleaning and the like, which he tackles dutifully and completes impeccably. Tina insists that he go outside for at least a little while each day, helping him slip onto the roof of the building, or into the small back yard without the notice of their landlady.

 

Tina wonders if this was what Frank the Thunderbird was like when Newt first found him. Credence startles easily, approaches each new thing tentatively. Yet, even Tina feels the stirrings of a fierce pride that Credence has begun to trust the two of them. Queenie has a little more trouble adapting to an unfamiliar mind in their house, but her curiosity—and that scholarly part of her—is endlessly fascinated by the duality of Credence’s mind. She tries not to stare too hard at him, he still has a little trouble meeting other people’s eyes.

 

He’s in hiding, so he can’t go outside. But it’s not bad; he’s not locked in. Miss Goldstein, the younger one, measures him for clothes with her tape measure moving all on its own. The clothes sew themselves as he watches on. They teach him to cook, without magic, but carefully peeling, slicing, and mixing. He kneads dough for bread most mornings, and prepares the vegetables for dinner. The blandness of the soups and stews they used to serve at the church house seem to him now surprising.

 

After the new year, word goes around town of a new bakery, and Queenie can hardly contain her excitement. Tina rolls her eyes a little, but she is just as happy for Jacob, really. Credence is the happy beneficiary of the baskets of pastries which Queenie cheerfully brings back to their rooms periodically, a wide grin on her face. They are very good, Credence shyly acknowledges, which always causes Queenie to blush. Tina scoffs at Queenie’s waxing lyrical about Jacob’s baking but secrets extra pastries in her coat to eat on the way to her office at M.A.C.U.S.A.

 

Credence is settled into the routine of their small household, the busy mornings completing his chores, the languid lunches which he usually takes outside into the garden or to the roof despite the cold, the afternoons spent reading inside, the evenings making dinner with the Goldsteins, and after their meal they might play a game of cards or chess. Credence finds himself calm—the routine of everything keeping the darkness at bay for the moment. But now he has a new fear. He is scared, scared that at any second the darkness might burst out of him and destroy this strange idyll.

 

Over a game a cribbage, Credence hesitantly mentions this to Tina. “Perhaps…I should leave. I’m putting you in danger—both of you. I’m—a monster.” His voice breaks shamefully, and he can only stare at his hands, trembling slightly in his lap.

 

“Are you happy here, Credence?”

 

“Well y—yes, I’ve never known anything better, but—”

 

“Credence. We understand the risks. We’ve _seen_ it. We _know_.”

 

Tina reaches forward and wraps her arms gently but firmly around Credence. He stiffens at first but then almost immediately feels himself yearning for the continued presence of Tina’s warmth.

 

“You’re not a monster to us, Credence,” she says, “never.”

 

“Miss Goldstein…” he whispers, he has wanted to ask this for a few weeks now and he can’t bring himself to say anything else, “do you know…what happened to Modesty?”

 

Tina pulls back slightly, clasps his shoulders, and stares at him seriously. “I don’t know Credence… But I promise to find out.”

 

\--

 

The snows were heavy this year. Credence hopes that Modesty has somewhere warm to stay. Her white face haunts him—her wide, blue eyes set in a frozen and frightened face. He just wants her to be alive and wants to feel her skinny hand in his own. He has done what he can for the moment, he’s asked Miss Goldstein to find her. He tells her of the old house where he saw Modesty last—that horrible day. She would surely know.

 

Tina debates whether she can ask anyone at M.A.C.U.S.A. about Modesty. It seemed, in the strange events following the battle, the auror department had forgotten about Modesty all together. The chaos is disturbing, but it is also an opportunity for Tina to poke around in files that are not strictly in her department without anyone noticing. Yet something unsettles her—she’s sure she’s being watched despite the precautions she is taking.

 

But Tina cannot be deterred. Patiently, she examines the reports from the magical clean-up crew from Modesty’s last known address, and the recorded place of appearance of the obscurus. She goes there in person, under the pretext of examining some smuggling of magical artefacts in the area. Credence’s magic had been so strong that she still feels its residues weeks later, but underneath it, she thinks she can also detect other magical traces. There is Grindelwald’s, of course—his wand and magical signature had been examined in great detail after he was locked away. But there is also a fainter trace of something. Tina lets herself become attuned to it.

 

Tina begins by questioning the children who used to throng to Mary Lou Barebone’s church house, who still tended to mill around. Tina is good with children, generally. They like her. But some of them seem to sense something wrong, and are disquieted by her presence. Most of them shake their head when she mentions the Second Salemers. They know the church is gone, but do not understand how. None of them seem to carry the chase of the unfamiliar magic she suspects is Modesty’s.

 

Modesty’s family is also nowhere to be found in any wizarding records that Tina happens to look up. Tina considers asking Queenie to look into a mind or two; but thinking better of it, Tina visits the no-maj registry office. With a few sly distraction spells, she manages to extract the adoption records of Modesty, and trace her parents, siblings, and grandparents.

 

Eventually, Tina finds Modesty in a small house. The sense of magic is stronger here. A small woman comes to the door, brusquely asking Tina what she wanted.

 

“Hello, ma’am, you must be her grandmother. I’m looking for Modesty. Her parents told me that I could find her here.” It was a lie but innocence enough. Tina casts a discreet detection spell over the house and notes that there is a girl of the right age in the house.

 

“Where’re you from, girl? Who sent you?”

 

“I assure you, ma’am, Modesty’s parents sent me to check on her welfare. I would be very happy to recompense you for your time.”

 

“There’s no need for that. You seem harmless enough and—well, I oughtn’t say so but—Modesty has refused to speak to me for days. Perhaps you could get some sense out of her.”

 

The elderly woman gestures that she should follow her into the house. Everything was worn down in the house, but neat and orderly, without neglect. When she sees Modesty, she is dressed in a worn, but clean smock, and seated at the kitchen table. The older woman leaves her alone with the silent girl.

 

“Hello, Modesty. I’m Tina. I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met once before.”

 

Modesty’s eyes flicker up to meet her own for a brief second; she immediately looks down again.

 

“Modesty…I don’t know what—how to say this,” Tina takes a deep breath, and her mind becomes blank, “your brother—Credence—he—”

 

Tina’s voice dies in her throat as Modesty gasps. “Credence?” Her voice is trembling with fear and relief in equal measure.

 

“Yes,” Tina says, “will you speak to me, please, Modesty? For Credence’s sake?”

 

The girl gives a small nod, her eyes bright with tears.

 

\--

 

A few days later, she finds a small note tucked into an almost unnoticeable corner of her desk. The blood drains out of her face when she reads it.

 

“Something is weighing on you, Tina.” Queenie wraps an arm around her taller sister, and summons both of them a cup of steaming cocoa.

 

Tina casts a privacy charm around the two of them. “M.A.C.U.S.A. knows that something has happened. I think they suspect that Credence is still alive. They’re tracking levels of magic and I think they can sense that something is not working. I don’t fully understand their arithmancy models—not that they’d let an auror see them anyway…but I overheard one of them talking about putting out warnings…”

 

Queenie’s eyes sharpen. “This is serious. What can we do?”

 

“I feel that we have to tell them about Credence. We cannot keep him hidden forever. But then—I have been speaking to Newt and it may be possible that Credence can go with him to England.”

 

“And what about Modesty?”

 

“I think it may be time that they meet again.”

 

A small grimace curls across Queenie’s lips. “I have a plan.”

 

“Why do I feel like your plan is the worst possible option?”

 

“There is no guarantee it will work, and we _will_ have to tell Credence first.”

 

Tina feels the reassuring brush of her sister’s mind against her own, the soft golden light she’d known since childhood flooding her senses. She did not need to tell Queenie how glad she was to have her there—they were, for the moment, feeling as one.

**Author's Note:**

> Just my small, slow attempt at playing in this new canon. Will mostly centre around platonic loving relationships and other canon relationships.
> 
> Any feedback highly appreciated.


End file.
